


The Cherry Tree

by Sheepnamedpig



Series: Love in the Groves [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic, Oral Sex, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles get married. And then they get married again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cherry Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I Sterek'd again. It's a slippery slope.
> 
> Unbeta'd

The forest spirit – _Stiles_ – (and what the hell kind of name is 'Stiles' anyways? “The kind that my mom made up when she named me after her dad without realizing that non-spirits can't pronounce it.” And that's fair, Derek supposes) doesn't wear clothing. Period. When Derek dumps a pair of pants in his lap he rolls his eyes and shoves them off. When Derek tries to wrestle him into a pair of boxers, the morning glory that migrated from Derek's legs to his hair shoves two vines up his nose and wiggles them until he lets Stiles go. Stiles storms off into the forest to commune with the trees or the animals or whatever it is he does when he wanders off and Derek doesn't see him again until two days later.

Derek doesn't try to force clothes on him after that. It's not like the house gets any visitors anyways.

Speaking of the house, Stiles makes the burnt-out husk come to life. Literally. The boards fuse together into living panels, shedding paint and charcoal as they grow upwards and outwards, replacing the old floors and walls and growing branches that arc like ceiling beams. Derek goes into town and finds as much information on thatching as he can and he spends three weeks weaving living straw into the branches and leaves, bundling everything together with more varieties of morning glory than he knew even existed. Meanwhile, Stiles weaves thick vines into banisters and sets window panes into the solid wood walls by asking them politely to open such-and-such shaped holes. In the end, when everything is finished, the Hale house looks like something from a fairy tale, and that's no mean feat, coming from two fairy tale creatures.

Also, sex. Lots of sex.

Stiles is sixteen and absolutely shameless, meaning he's a perverted little shit who can and does abuse his abilities to tie Derek down and ride him until one of them passes out.

“Gotta bless every room in the house,” he pants, riding Derek's dick like he didn't lose his virginity just a few weeks prior.

Derek is a werewolf, so he doesn't know jack shit about nature blessings, but he does know a lot about lunar blessings, so when the moon waxes full, he takes Stiles out and claims him under her light.

Technically, it means they're pretty much wolf-married, but Derek is surprisingly okay with that, and when he admits it to Stiles, Stiles is pretty okay with it, too. It doesn't stop him from wanting to strangle Stiles when he gets into those moods where nothing can shut him up, but nobody's perfect.

A few days later, Stiles comes up to him and holds out his palm.

“Check it out, dude,” he says, inordinately pleased with himself.

“Don't call me dude,” Derek replies on reflex.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sorry, honeycomb,” he snarks. Derek lets that one go, but only because it's marginally better than 'sugar bear', which was only slightly better than 'sweetie lips'.

Derek looks down at Stiles palm. It's a cherry, such a dark red that it's almost black.

“It's a cherry.”

“Duh.” Stiles rolls his eyes again and curls his fingers back around the cherry. He turns and walks straight into the forest and Derek follows him. Stiles starts talking about cherries and cherry trees and why cherry wood darkens as it ages, but Derek tunes him out in favor of watching him walk.

The way Stiles walks through the woods is riveting, even taking out the part where he's completely naked. He walks like he's wandered through the forest his entire life, like he knows where every stone and root is, and exactly how high he needs to raise his feet to avoid falling face-first into the dirt. And he never, ever gets lost. It makes Derek a little jealous, knowing that there's someone who knows the forest better than he does, but then, Stiles  _is_ the forest, literally, for all that he's a spastic mouth-breather who never shuts up.

They've been walking about ten minutes when Stiles stops abruptly, his words trailing off. He looks around, at the trees, at the dirt, and at the sun where it's an hour shy of its zenith, and nods decisively.

“Hey, um, morning, everyone,” Stiles says to the trees, waving a hand in hello. A few wave branches back. “I'm going to start a clearing here, so could everyone maybe back up, just a little bit?”

The trees obediently shuffle away, leaving troughs of disturbed earth behind them. A bush uproots itself and rolls out of the way, helped by a few tree roots that rise up and nudge it along until it hits the edge of the clearing, where it promptly re-roots itself. Derek doesn't even blink because this is seriously one of the less strange things he's seen Stiles do. The morning glory in his hair curls a companionable vine around his ear.

Stiles looks up at the sky again and around at the brand new clearing. “Thanks, you guys. This is perfect! Now, let's see about these leaves.”

A friendly dust devil sweeps into the clearing and picks up the leaves, depositing them around the very edges of the clearing before dissipating. A few leaves get caught in Derek's clothes and he picks them free as grass sprouts up beneath their feet. In a matter of moments, the clearing looks a lot like the one Derek found Stiles in.

“Do I get to participate this time?” Derek asks.

Stiles looks up at the sky again and sets the cherry down dead center in the clearing, pressing it into the dirt. “Yep. So take those clothes off.”

As Derek strips down without complaint, he thinks he may be pretty far gone on Stiles. He sets his clothes down at the base of a friendly looking birch.

“Would you please keep an eye on these for me?” he asks politely. He can usually get away with grunting and growling at Stiles, but the trees are a little less tolerant and are horrible gossips. There's an old elm down south that he was rude to and now he can't walk past a single elm in the forest without them tripping him.

The birch drops a single leaf down onto the pile. A 'yes'.

“Thank you,” Derek says. When he turns around, Stiles is smiling like it's Christmas and Easter and Spring Equinox all rolled together. Derek smiles back, just a little.

Stiles fits in Derek's arms like he was made for it. Derek only has an inch or so on him, so it's as easy as anything to pull their hips together and grind while they kiss. A familiar energy builds in the clearing and the scent of renewing life washes over him as Stiles gets hard.

There are some people, humans mostly, who think that arousal smells like spice. It doesn't. It's more like a slow rolling wall of scent, a dense fog bank silently devouring everything in its path, and a weightless presence against his skin that clings to the fine hairs on his arms and makes him shiver from the base of his spine. Stiles' arousal is all that and more, filling him up and making him feel like he's something more than just 'alive', like he's too full of whatever energy 'life' is made of and the only way to release it is by touching Stiles.

He pushes Stiles down to the grass, careful of the cherry sapling rising out of the dirt, and settles down between his thighs, holding them down with his upper body as he just  _breathes_ on Stiles' erect cock. The entire forest breathes in in anticipation and Derek breathes in with it, watching Stiles' pupils dilate until there's no honey-brown left at all. And then he leans down and gives a little kitten lick to its base.

Energy floods into the clearing and the cherry sapling shoots upward, sprouting leaves and new branches like a cat that's been shocked. He takes Stiles' cock into his mouth and goes to town.

Everything about this reminds Derek of that first day, when he watched Stiles establish his power in the heart of the forest, growing an oak tree from seed in the time it took to bring himself off. But this time is different. The energy doesn't flow around him but  _through_ him and Derek can feel his own energy feeding into it, can feel Stiles' energy too, and even the energy of the sapling as it unfolds leaves and flowers. He can feel it all, tied in like another circuit rather than a bystander watching the process happen.

Stiles writhes and babbles under Derek's hands, his hips thrusting shallowly into Derek's mouth. Derek reaches out and a familiar flower rises out of the ground to meet him, the cup of its blossom forming under his fingers. He dips two fingers in, coating them with the sweet sap Stiles prefers and eases them into Stiles, still so tight even after almost three months of daily sex. He pushes in a third, and then a fourth, nearly gagging on Stiles' cock as he bucks at the stretch.

Energy builds around them as Stiles gets close, (and wow, when this is over Derek is going to miss being able to sense just how close Stiles is to coming), so Derek eases off, going from four fingers to two and taking his mouth off of Stiles' leaking cock to nibble his hip bone. Stiles whines and grabs at Derek's hair, fingers tangling in the vines of the morning glory nestled there, but the growing energy levels off.

“Not done with you yet,” Derek growls. Stiles' cock twitches.

“Oh my God,” Stiles moans, brow scrunched in equal parts pleasure and frustration. He yanks on Derek's hair. “Hurry up and fuck me!”

Derek swats Stiles' hands away before the greedy vines woven through his hair get any clever ideas again but keeps his other hand moving in Stiles' stretched hole. Some instinct tells him it would be a bad idea to stop the pleasure cold-turkey.

He leans up to kiss Stiles, leaning over him on one hand while the other teases Stiles' prostate. Stiles pulls him close, fingers digging into the meat of Derek's back then drifting down to pluck at Derek's nipples and scratch blunt fingernails through the thin line of hair that leads down from Derek's navel. He slicks Derek's cock with quick and perfunctory touches, but Derek shudders in pleasure anyway, feeling his energy mingle with Stiles' as it flows directly from him to the almost fully grown cherry tree.

Derek sighs into Stiles' mouth as he lines up his cock and pushes in. The quiet exhale is lost under the sound of the tree's branches creaking as they are pulled down by the weight of hundreds of swelling cherries. Derek ignores it, catching Stiles knees over his elbows and planting his hands to either side of Stiles' waist, opening him up and giving Derek a better angle with which to thoroughly abuse Stiles prostate. Which he proceeds to do. Thoroughly.

Stiles shouts and starts swearing like a drunk sailor with an attitude problem. His heels kick against Derek's sides and his hands wind over Derek's shoulders, fingers catching in the vines of the morning glory. Derek lunges hard with each thrust, fucking Stiles down into the grass until Stiles is nearly bent double at the waist. The energy builds again, flowing into their bodies and funneling into the cherry tree which groans under the weight of a thousand ripe cherries.

Derek can feel Stiles' orgasm cresting well before the forest spirit actually comes. He's scraping his teeth down the line of Stiles' throat when hot come spurts up Stiles' chest from his untouched cock, but somehow it's not over yet because the energy is still building, still feeding into the two of them, into the cherry tree which desperately sprouts new branches and fruit to accommodate it. And then -

And then Derek is coming with a roaring howl and Stiles writhes mindlessly beneath him as red-black cherries rain down on them.

Later, when the two of them are curled up at the base of the cherry tree and sucking sweet red juice off each others' fingers, Stiles explains.

“Well, you made us wolf-married, so I made us spirit-married.”

Derek pulls Stiles further into the curve of his body and holds him tightly. “I see,” he says, voice carefully neutral.

Stiles snorts and rolls his eyes. “If you want to smile, just do it. I promise not to defile your reputation as a badass to all the adoring fans you don't have.”

Derek compromises by burying his face in Stiles' neck before giving into a smile that threatens to crack his face apart. Stiles laughs at him, the vibration in his throat making the fine hairs on Derek's face tickle, but Derek just huddles closer, basking in everything that is suddenly so right with the world.


End file.
